


Delay of Game

by EveryDayBella



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, Hockey, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Bucky Barnes, Skinny!Steve, someone else panics, someone gets injured
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 20:11:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6391594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EveryDayBella/pseuds/EveryDayBella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hockey is a rough game, but it's harder when it's someone you love who’s gotten hurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delay of Game

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY @DSS_12! She is my hockeywife and the only one who really gets me when I go all crazy hockey person. LOL She's always begging me for hockey!AUs and I always want hockey AUs, so have a tiny hockey!AU love. Hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> Also thank Angelycdevil, cause she cleaned it all up for me. *smoochies*

**Delay of Game**

  
  


**We won! How did your game go baby? - B**

Bucky shoves his phone back in his pocket, knowing that he still has press to talk to. As much as he hates it, he doesn’t want to run the risk of them finding out about Steve. As much as there are many days when he wants to publicly come out, now this isn’t the time. 

That doesn’t stop him from thinking about Steve while talking to the press. That’s he seems to be capable of doing these days now that they’re finally together. The thing is he and Steve are college sweethearts. Barely. They met when Bucky was a junior and Steve was a freshman. Somehow this skinny, little former figure skater managed to make it onto the school's hockey team. The same team Bucky had been the captain of. He couldn’t stand him at first and it was only made worse by the fact that the poor punk froze up anytime he got checked. It drove Bucky up the wall because getting pushed around is a huge part of the game. You can’t be scared and play at the same time. 

Eventually, he took it upon himself to teach little Steve how to take the hit. It meant a lot of early mornings, tumbling out of bed to hit the ice. That was how he first fell for Steve, at seven in the morning with his blond hair sticking to his face and a stubborn fire in his blue eyes. 

In classic Bucky fashion, he almost waited too long. In fact, he didn’t make a move until the day he graduated and planning to Boston to play for Bruins the next day. Even then, he’d done it all wrong. He just hugged Steve goodbye for just a beat too long and walked away trying to tell himself that he was doing the right thing all while knowing he wasn’t. 

Until he’d finally given in and ran all the way back to the hockey haus, barged into Steve’s room, that was in the process of being packed, and kissed him. 

That had been the moment that Bucky knew Steve is his forever. 

Forever can take a while, so in the meantime, he and Steve have been in an long distance relationship with him in Boston and on the road and Steve still at school in New York. It isn’t the setup Bucky would have liked, and he’s still kicking himself for not taking chances when he had them, but they’re making it work. They visit each other as often as Bucky’s busy schedule allows and the time between is filled with phone calls and text messages. 

As soon as his press rounds are done and he’s headed for the airport, Bucky pulls out his phone, expecting to find a reply to his earlier message. He frowns when all he has instead as a text from his mother. 

He tries not to let the lack of response get to him as he boards the bus. If he allows it, it’ll drive him crazy and he needs to sleep on the plane. They have a game again tomorrow night in Tampa Bay and Bucky needs to be rested. 

But sure enough the last thing he’s doing on the plane is sleeping. He’s staring out the window into the darkness, his mind running wild.

“What’s wrong, dude?” Clint mumbles without opening his eyes. 

“Nothing.”

“Something is wrong and it's interfering with my beauty sleep.”

“Well, we can’t have that. What would we do without your ugly mug?”

“Stop distracting me, you idiot, and spill.”

It's only because he and Clint had gone to school together for a couple years and Bucky trusts him when he answers, “I haven’t heard from Steve yet.”

“Maybe he’s studying.”

“He had a game tonight, too. He always texts me after a game.”

“I’m sure he’s fine, Buck.” Clint shrugs and rather than being offended, Bucky’s a little relieved. Clint’s wife Natasha played in WNLH so he knows what it’s like. If he isn’t worried then maybe Bucky is just overreacting. “Call him when we land and in the meantime, go the fuck to sleep.”

Against his will, he’s able to. 

He forces himself to wait until he makes it to the hotel to pull out his phone. He doesn’t want to bug any of the other guys, but as soon as he’s inside his own room, he’s turning on his phone and 

dialing Steve’s number. He doesn’t even realize that he’s pacing as the phone rings and rings and rings. He tells himself not to stress about it. It is late and Steve should be asleep. That’s why it's taking so long for him to pick up surely.

Bucky freezes completely in his tracks when Steve doesn’t pick up. Instead it’s his best friend, Sam. “Hey, Buck, I guess you guys finally landed in Tampa.”

“Yeah.” Bucky tries not to think about how tired Sam sounds or the uneasiness in his voice. “You know where Steve is? He never texted me after the game.”

“Yeah, we tried to get a hold of you before your flight, but we clearly missed you and you didn’t check your messages.” There’s an unmistakable wabble to his voice. It sends ice spreading through his veins and his heart hammering in his chest. One last, small rational thought tells him to sit down, but he doesn’t listen. He remains rooted to the carpet, trying to remember to breath and hoping that Steve is okay.

“Steve took a bad hit during the game today.” Sam explains too slowly for Bucky’s tastes. “A goon shoved him up against the wall with a little too much force. He didn’t get up off the ice.”

“Damnit.” Bucky growls. It’s too easy to picture Steve, tiny even in his pads, crumpled onto the ice. It had happened once before in his freshman year. Bucky had been there with him then. “How is he?”

“Okay at the moment. We’re at the hospital and he didn’t wake up until we’d been here for twenty minutes. He’s got a concussion, obviously, dislocated his right shoulder, and cracked a couple ribs. He’s staying in the hospital overnight just so they can keep an eye on him. I think he’s going to be okay, just really sore.”

Bucky has to pull the phone away from his mouth and muffle himself with his fist before he can scream. Hockey is, and always has been, a dangerous sport. You expect some level of hurt. Of course, Steven Grant Punk-Ass Rogers would take the cake when it comes to getting hurt. Bucky wants to be angry, and he will later, but for the moment, all he can feel is sick with worry and a need to see and touch Steve to be sure he’s okay for himself. The big problem is that Bucky is in Florida and Steve is in New York. He has to take a few deep steadying breaths before putting the phone back to his ear. 

“He’s okay though, right?”

“Yeah.” Bucky, in his own exhaustion, just decides to interpret Sam’s tone as tired. “Yeah, he’s going to be okay. A lot of painkillers at the minute, and, like I said, they’re keeping him overnight, but he’ll make a full recovery in a couple of months.”

“Can I talk to him?”

“He tried to stay up for you, man. You know him, he’s a stubborn son of bitch, but he’s never had a high tolerance for pain killers. I’ll make sure he calls you in the morning before I go back to classes though.”

Bucky nods, not caring in the least that Sam can’t see him. It doesn’t matter. Steve is okay. That means Bucky needs to fix his next problem. “I’ll see when I can get a flight back. I’ll try to be there by morning. Coach won’t like me missing the game, but it’s not a big deal.”

“Hey, slow down there, cowboy.” Sam chuckles for the first time since the call had started, sounding a bit amused. “I’ve got a message for you straight from the horse’s mouth. Steve says don’t come. He knows you. He knows you’d want to be here, no matter what, but he’s going to be okay. He said that you need to stay there and do your job.”

“That is the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.” Bucky growls. As if. Bucky has had his fair share of injures in the game. They hurt like a son of a bitch. He isn’t going to leave Steve to go through that alone. No way in hell. He could be back in New York in just a couple of hours. 

“I know it's stupid.” Sam agrees. “But he’s right. He’s only still in here so they can keep an eye on him and he should get to go home in the morning. None of this is life threatening. He’s gonna be okay. You’ve got a couple days after your roadie, right?”

Bucky is begrudgingly forced to agree. There’s no real need for him to rush home. He still feels like he should, but he agrees to sleep on it and wait to hear back in the morning. 

“Sam...who hit him?” Bucky asks before Sam can hang up.

“Brock Rumlow. You remember the big goon on the Harvard team? Don’t lose your shit. He’s already been suspended.”

That ends up being just one of the many reasons that he doesn’t sleep that night.

 

* * *

 

 

In the morning the first one to approach him is Clint while Bucky is pretending to eat breakfast. “Hey, I heard about Steve. How is he?”

Bucky stared flabbergasted while he hurriedly hides his phone which has plane schedule open. “How did you hear about that?”

“You clearly haven’t seen ESPN this morning.” Clint slathers a layer of cream cheese on his bagel and then grimaces. “Then again, maybe you shouldn’t. Anyway, it's the most attention hockey’s gotten on there in ages. It was a really bad hit.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, feeling the few bites of oatmeal he’s taken roll in his stomach. He knew there was video, but he hasn’t watched it. He honestly doesn’t trust himself yet. “He was apparently out of it for about twenty minutes.”

“Shit.” 

“Shit.” Bucky agrees.

“How’s he doing?”

Bucky shrugs, fighting off the urge to look at his phone. He’s not sure he’s looked away since he woke from the one hour of sleep he got. Sam promised him that he would call in the morning and Bucky is down to counting seconds as he waits for his phone to buzz. “What would you do?” he finally asks.

“What would I do about what?”

“About this. I need to be there for him. He’s in pain and I can’t just let him suffer alone, but I also know that I need to be here to play tonight. I don’t think I expected it to be this hard.”

“Okay, well, have you and Steve talked about this before?”

“Not really.” Bucky hopes that he doesn’t sound as petulant as he thinks he does.

“Well, when ever you go back you should sit down and talk about it.” Clint’s smile isn’t too condemning so Bucky figures he’s forgiven. “That being said, Nat and I have a deal. If it's anything short of life threatening or maiming, we don’t drop everything. Doesn’t mean we don't want to, or that I’m not scared shittless when something happens to her. I just know that she’s a big girl and she can take care of herself. She doesn’t need me to mother all over her. In fact, she’d kick me in the balls for it.”

“That’s fair enough. I’ve met your wife. She could take you.”

“Damn right, she could. Why do you think I married her? She keeps me straight.” Clint chuckles, more than likely at the childish humor his words had created. He is that kinda guy. “I’ve never met your Steve, but something tells me he’s a pretty tough guy. I think he’ll be okay without you hovering over him. For the record, I’m telling you this as your friend, not your teammate who doesn’t want to hit the ice without you tonight.”

“Thanks for that.” Bucky snorts.

“Anytime, pal.” Clint is going to say something else, but Bucky’s phone begins vibrating and he only has to glance momentarily to know that it's what he’s been waiting for. He’s racing out of the bustling dining room and into a secluded hallway before putting it to his ear. “Steve?”

“Gee Buck, you don’t have to sound worried.” Steve’s voice is a touch sluggish and shallow, but the attitude and teasing are all his Steve. Bucky has to huff out a wet breath before he can sob.

“You scared me, you punk,” he accuses without any real force. 

“I’m fine. They didn’t even have to keep me overnight.” It's all too easy to imagine Steve glaring daggers at whoever is in the room with him, and something new rips away in Bucky in the process. He’s not going to believe that Steve is okay until he can see him, and touch him, and be certain. “They’re just being paranoid.”

“Listen, Steve,” Bucky clears his throat, a little embarrassed that he’s on the verge of tears. “Just do whatever they tell you okay? Stop fighting everybody.”

“Whatever.” It's not the most convincing come back, but Bucky accepts it. Anything, really, anything to keep Steve talking. As long as Steve is talking then Bucky can convince himself that everything is okay. 

“I love you.” Bucky admits so softly that he isn’t sure the phone has picked him up. It’s not the first time he’d told Steve, he’s known since they got together, but he still really wants Steve to hear this one. It seems important. It seems to say more than just a simple ‘I love you.’

“Love you too, Bucky.” He sounds a little more coherent in that moment than he has which is a relief. “Kick ass tonight, okay?”

“There’s a flight to New York in an hour...I can be there by noon.”

“Oh my god, fuck you.” Steve’s voice is stronger than it has been since he got in the phone. “Didn’t Sam tell you to stay there? I told him to tell you!”

“He did...but you’re hurt, Steve, and I can’t do anything about it from here so--”

“You won’t be able to do anything from here either,” Steve interrupts steadily. “They’ve got me on a shitload of painkillers. Ask Sam. I was telling him the sky was green earlier. I know you wanna be here, but your team needs you more right now .So if you dare to be here a second before midnight, I’m getting up and kicking your ass. Do you understand, James Buchanan?”

Bucky laughs, slightly hysterical, but oddly happy as well. “Fine. You better be watching the game though.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Steve yawns and Bucky wishes more than anything that he could wrap him up in his arms. “Love you.”

“I love you too, Stevie. Get some sleep, okay?”

“Kay.”

Bucky talks to Sam for a moment, just to make sure that Steve really is okay before he hangs up. Along the walk back to the table, he’s buying a plane ticket for New York, two hours after his game.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s a good thing red eye flights are mostly empty because Bucky is a fidgeting mess the whole time. By the time he makes it through security and gets a rental car, it's well past midnight. The streets are empty enough that he doesn’t feel bad about cruising well past the speed limit. He just hopes that he doesn’t get pulled over. That’s the last kind of press he needs. 

Fortunately Steve had been sent home that morning and Bucky’s able to get onto the school grounds without too much trouble and from there finding the house most of the hockey team lives in is a snap. After all, he lived there longer than Steve. The tires on his crappy little four by four squeal loudly in the dark as he peels into a parking space. He spares a moment to hope that he hasn’t woken anybody up before he’s out the door and running for the house. 

Once inside he races for the stairs, taking them two at a time. He doesn’t fully come to a stop until he’s in front of Steve’s door and even then, it’s only to take a deep breath before opening it as silently as possible. 

Inside the room is dark, the only light coming through the old window over the bed. Bucky lets out a relieved breath finding Steve asleep on his back, breathing softly and haloed by the moonlight. Bucky creeps across the room to silently sit on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle it too much and wake him up. 

Bucky can’t help reaching out with trembling fingers to trace feather soft fingers down Steve’s cheek. Though he’s asleep, it doesn’t look to be peaceful. There’s a furrow in his brow, a twist in his lips that is anything but comfortable. Bucky catches sight of the pill bottles next to his bed and wonders if he’s refused to take the painkillers again. He does have a history of that and it won’t surprise Bucky in the least, but on the other hand, as long as Steve is sleeping, it’s not worth waking him up for. Instead he leans forward to brush his lips against Steve’s cheek. For the first time in twenty four hours, Bucky can take a deep breath and know that Steve is okay. 

He  kicks off his shoes and removes his jacket. Steve doesn’t have a very big bed, but there’s just enough space for Bucky to curl in next to him and sleep the few hours until morning away.

 

* * *

 

 

The sun is right in his eyes when he’s startled awake.  It’s only by some miracle that he manages to remember not to roll over or he’d be on the floor right now. It doesn’t keep him from grumbling as the brightness gets in his eyes and induces a headache.

There’s a sound like a snicker next to him. “That’s what you get for crawling into in my bed without permission.”

Bucky blinks an eye open to glare at Steve. “I’ve never had to ask permission before.”

“You’ve never snuck in at the middle of the night before.”

“Bullshit. What about the time last fall when you had way too much to drink at the kegger, hm? Someone had to make sure your lightweight ass didn’t die in sleep.”

Steve’s cheeks turn just the finest shade of pink as embarrassment bleeds through his skin. Bucky can’t keep the indulgent smile in or help tracing the curve of his translucent cheek which makes Steve blush harder. “I didn’t drink that much,” he says without the fire from a moment ago.

“Whatever you say, punk.” Bucky’s done arguing with him. There are more important things their mouths could be doing. Bucky leans up to capture Steve’s lips in a sweet kiss, pulling away quickly to look him over. “How ya feeling?”

Steve grimaces which is bad news in itself. Steve is pretty good at hiding his own discomfort. The fact that he can’t only shows how pain he was in. “I’m fine,” he lies. “Just a little sore.”

“That’s bullshit, Stevie.” Bucky slides of the narrow bed and moves to sit on Steve’s other side. “Your shoulder has been dislocated and that hurts like a son of bitch even a couple days later. I don’t even know how you bruised your ribs. Were you wearing any pads at all?”

“Of course I was, mother.” Steve rolls his eyes. “It’s not like I was being stupid, Bucky.”

Bucky sighs, forcing all the terror and anger down before Steve can get to thinking that it's aimed at him. Frustrated fingers comb briefly through his hair, pulling on the ends as if he can pull the fear out with them. He’s a little surprised when his hand is pulled away and finer fingers are woven through his own. Steve brings their joined hands down to rest on his chest where Bucky can watch them rise and fall and he breaths. “Bucky, seriously, I’m fine. I probably won’t be able to play until next semester, but I can go back to classes in a couple days soon as they clear me from the concussion. This is nothing that’s going to destroy my life or anything.”

“I still worry.” Bucky admits. “You’re important to me.”

Steve rolls his eyes again, this time blushing. “You’re such a sap, Christ. Okay, okay, fine. Just know that one day, our positions will be reversed and I’ll be fussing over you. We’re even.”

“You’re probably right about that.” Bucky laughs and leans down to share a soft, reassuring kiss. “How about I go downstairs, inspire awe in the fish, find us some breakfast, and you tell me all about your battle story.”

“Sounds like a deal. The fish have been dying to meet you. When do you have to go back to Boston?”

“Tomorrow.” Bucky steals another kiss and pulls himself away. He doesn’t want to think about that now. Now, he has twenty-four hours with his boyfriend. That’s not something he’s going to waste thinking about hockey.


End file.
